


That Brave Girl

by Sandalaris



Series: the white rabbit's pocketwatch [7]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Series, but nothing graphic, talks of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandalaris/pseuds/Sandalaris
Summary: Everyday she breaks a little more.This ties in with my AU series, but also stands alone as it's pretty canon-compliant.





	That Brave Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Because it bugs me as to how Regina knew about the chipped teacup.

Belle wanted to be brave, used to think herself on the way to bravery. Not anymore. Not when the Queen stands before her, imposing and all-powerful. At least here, when Belle is in the heart of her domain.  

"You'd make this much easier on yourself if you'd just answer the question," Her Majesty says, voice as sweet as poison and full of faux concern. 

There's something wet in her throat, a pain her chest, and the taste of blood on the back of her tongue. It hurts to breathe, brings forth a gurgle with every breath, and each one is shallower than the one before.  

She doesn't know how long it's been, since her majesty entered and began her questions. She always starts with pain though, having learned in the beginning that Belle won't speak at all until the curses start. Curses like Rumple's, only this time directed at her. She's had her tongue removed three times, her chest caved in twice, and this is the sixth time she'd felt herself drowning on her own blood. 

She's become well acquainted with the feeling of her bones snapping, and knows exactly how long she can withstand fire before intervention must be done to keep her alive. That's the Queen's favorite she suspects. A conjured ball of flames that Belle gets to watch form before it's set on her and she screams herself hoarse. 

The Queen always heals her after, patching everything back up until there's no sign left of any damage. Good as new. Better even than the day they brought her into her cell. Not a scratch to mar her skin. 

Belle almost wishes she wouldn't bother. The pain isn't pleasant and the idea of dying is both frightening and anger inducing, but she's coming to expect the relief that follows. Coming to look forward to it, to the rush of a magic under her skin knitting everything back to normal. Thankful. And by the gods she doesn't want to be grateful to that vile woman for anything. 

"What can you tell me about your master?" 

Always the same questions. Not everyday. No, she's not important enough for the Queen's daily attentions. Probably wouldn't be important at all if she hadn't have once lived with Rumple. Would have been forgotten in her cell or left for dead along the side of the road. Maybe used as a bargaining chip if her papa had something of use. 

"Nothing," she replies. Same question, same answer. Sometimes she varies it up by saying it in other languages, when the monotony is getting to her. She no longer has the strength to spit threats.  

Something hits her, something unseen and going too deep to be anything other than magic with it's internal damage, leaving her skin hot and intact and probably pooling in dark purple patches. Or black if the Queen hit her liver again. Almost couldn't save her that time. 

"What can you tell me about the one they call Rumpelstiltskin?" 

Belle has reached her limit. It's not the first time, won't be the last, but she can't, won't, give up anything about the man she loves. But she's weak, too weak not to answer. So she talks, tells of dusting the drawing rooms and days spent wandering the halls alone. Talks of chipped tea cups and gifts of ballgowns and simple dresses. Unimportant things, precious things. 

Inside she tucks away the feeling of his arms around her, the lines of his back when he spins at the wheel, the taste of his kiss and of his anger. Her private collection.  

She pushes from her thoughts the shape of his workroom, the bottles on the shelf, and the things he whispered to her about magic. Tries to forget them so that if, _when,_ she breaks completely they will be long gone. 

The Queen makes a noise of disgust as she prattles on, telling of the time she mopped the kitchen only to have to he pop up behind her and giggled as she knocked over her mop bucket. Her Majesty is frustrated and Belle knows that it's almost over. Almost time for the sweet touch of too warm magic that spreads and numbs and is almost pleasure in it's soothing of pain. And gods help her but she wants it. 

She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip when it comes, fighting to keep from crying out, eyes wet and muscles tense in an effort not to react. She wants to weep, wants to moan, wants to throw back her head and beg for it again and again and again. Instead she taste blood on her tongue and sting of her lip giving under her bite before that too is soothed by the brush of the healing spell. 

"You're only hurting yourself more by not telling me," the Queen says as she pauses by the door. 

Belle laughs then, a broken, choking thing. Makes her sound unhinged.

"You're mad if you think I'll betray him," she gasps out, still fighting to hold onto the feeling of warmth dancing between her freshly mended ribs. 

"I think you'll find that to be the other way around, my dear." 

Then she's alone in her cell, the door locked once more and the sound of the guards moving aside as the Queen leaves her.  

Belle lets herself weep when she's alone, let's the tears come and rush down her cheeks in hot lines. She misses it, the touch of magic, the feeling of her body mending itself, the sweet release as the pain leaves and all other sensations rush back in.  

But oh, how dirty she feels now that it's done, now that her body is singing with newly healed flesh and the magic is humming under her skin like champagne bubbles. Making her want more. Another taste, just one more.

She's so very afraid. Afraid of more pain, afraid of breaking. Afraid that the Queen will come back tomorrow and do it all again. Afraid that she won't. 

She used to be brave.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually love Regina dearly but let's be honest, she is perfectly capable of toture and has done far worse that what's in my little fic here.


End file.
